


Golden and Bright

by Aurum_Auri



Series: Tumblr Prompts [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Do Overs, Drunk Sex, Grand Prix Final Banquet, M/M, Virgin Katsuki Yuuri, Window Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-04-28 06:22:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14443251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aurum_Auri/pseuds/Aurum_Auri
Summary: Sochi banquet AU where Victor and Yuuri end the night in Victor's room, and Yuuri's memory is exactly as good as it is in canon.





	Golden and Bright

**Author's Note:**

  * For [getaway_machine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/getaway_machine/gifts).



> Another tumblr prompt! This time: Sochi AU banquet pornnnnn with drunk virgin Yuuri getting the dicking he really wants
> 
> Don't worry, I know exactly what tropes you like ;)

Everything was golden and bright.

He drained another glass of champagne and clung to Victor’s body. “Be my coachhh,” he said. Victor’s eyes were sparkling.

They danced like lovers, like a dream come true.

The night passed too fast to be real, hours slipping away like seconds as they dipped and spun in the gold and silver lights. Yuuri couldn’t even hear the music anymore. All he could hear was Victor’s laughter, see that bright smile on his face.

The world was dizzy and beautiful and more perfect than anything Yuuri had ever known. Victor tried to dress him again on the way to their rooms, but all Yuuri could think of was how it felt to have Victor’s hands on his skin.

“Come on, Yuuri, the party is over,” Victor said, and he was smiling, his breath sweet with champagne and his eyes glittering with joy. He tried to wrestle Yuuri’s jacket over his arms. The elevator was so intimate, Victor so close. “Let’s get you back to your room.”

“Let’s go to yours,” Yuuri breathed. He relented, letting Victor push the jacket back on him. His fingers wrapped around Victor’s tie and pulled him close. Victor’s breath was warm on his cheek. “Afterparty?” he whispered in Victor’s ear.

“I shouldn’t,” he said. “You’re drunk-”

“I’m sober enough,” Yuuri purred. “I won the dance off, didn’t I? Victor please. _Please_. I want you, so bad…”

“You’re sure?” he asked. A hand settled heavily on Yuuri’s hip, drawing him indecently close until their bodies were flush.

Yuuri hummed and nodded in gentle agreement. His arms settled over Victor’s shoulders. Victor was the perfect height, just a little taller than Yuuri, enough to surround Yuuri without being uncomfortable.

The elevator doors opened on Yuuri’s floor, though they made no move to get off. Victor’s cheeks were flushed. He stumbled over himself in his eagerness, hitting another button higher up, to where his own room was. Yuuri purred his satisfaction.

Victor let out a groan. His hands slid down to grab at Yuuri’s ass, squeezing tight. It was claiming, possessive. Yuuri buried his face in Victor’s neck. The doors slid shut once more, and it traveled up, all the way to Victor’s floor.

Victor’s neck had a heavy scent clinging to it, a mix of cologne and sweat and the droplets alcohol that had sprayed on him from the dance-off Yuuri had won. It was electric. Victor’s head tipped down, and their lips met. It was shy for only a moment, hesitant for the barest of seconds before it broke like a dam.

Yuuri was a starving man, and Victor was heaven against his lips, the kiss growing suddenly desperate. The man from his posters was here, the face Yuuri had seen in his dreams, and Yuuri was going to see this dream through to the very end.

The elevator let them off on Victor’s floor.

“This way,” Victor said, and he was breathless once more, the way he had been while dancing. His lips were red from kisses, and Yuuri had never seen anything so arousing in his life. He’d never had a dream so vivid before.

Victor took him by the hand, leading him quickly down the halls. Yuuri felt buoyed by the champagne bubbling in his veins. He followed with a giggle, pulled down the luxurious hallway and into Victor’s arms, his back to the door.

Victor was on him again, fumbling, kissing, digging out a keycard for the door with one hand and sliding the other around to cup Yuuri’s behind. Yuuri tipped his hips forward. He ground his hips against Victor’s, their arousals rutting flush against one another.

Yuuri heard the whisper-soft beep of the keycard being accepted, and the door fell open behind him. He laced his arms around Victor’s neck and pulled him back into the room. Victor walked him back until his thighs hit the bed.

Yuuri parted with a soft breath and fell back onto the bed. Victor was loosening his tie, toeing his shoes off one at a time.

“You’re so handsome,” he said in awe. “How are you so handsome? It isn’t fair.”

Victor sucked his lower lip between his teeth. “I could ask the same. Look at you.”

Yuuri’s head fell back. The floor-to-ceiling windows were dark with a swathe of starlit sky, twinkling with city lights below. He could see his reflection in the glass. He was nothing special, a rumpled mess laid out on Victor’s bed. Yuuri frowned. In his dreams, he should have been more alluring.

His hair was a mess, his glasses crooked on his face, his fingers loosely curled on the comforter. Victor was unbuttoning his trousers. “Need you,” Yuuri breathed.

Victor knelt over Yuuri, crawling onto his knees over Yuuri’s body. Yuuri brought his hands up to Victor’s hair. It was silky soft beneath his fingers.

The switch flipped. The soft expression on Victor’s face became heated, and he bowed over Yuuri, kissing him hard and grinding his hips down. Victor’s body bracketed Yuuri’s, hot and heavy weight pressing down against him. It was his filthiest fantasy, his darkest desire, and it drove Yuuri near crazy.

Hands slid under his shirt, already untucked from tonight’s revelry, gliding over his stomach. Yuuri should have felt nervous, or some kind of apprehension or shame, but all he felt was bubbly and bright. Victor’s touch was scorching hot.

Victor helped him out his his trousers, Yuuri overeager and fumbling. It was foreign and strange and new, intoxicating like the glasses of champagne from earlier in the evening. Fingers worked up, hasty, greedy, yanking at buttons, and Yuuri felt a little like a gift being opened.

Victor looked _hungry_. This was Yuuri’s favorite dream, the kind where Victor wanted him just as badly as Yuuri wanted Victor. Yuuri wanted to feel Victor’s hands on his body. The slow, worshipful glide of hands down his hips, bringing the waistband of his suit pants and his underwear down with it, was downright sinful in how indulgent it felt now.

He’d had so many dreams about this moment, but none of them had felt so startlingly realistic. Victor’s eyes were a few shades darker than the pictures and posters, his skin dusted red along his cheekbones and his teeth sinking hungrily into his lower lip. He was so much more handsome than any magazine spread. `

“Yuuri, Yuuri.” Victor was panting after breaking the kiss. “Stop me if I’m going to fast.”

“Faster,” Yuuri urged. “Victor, please, touch me, touch me.” He broke off when Victor’s teeth latched onto his collarbone.

There was jerking off to porn, and then there was being in Victor’s bed, pinned to the sheets by the weight of Victor’s body. Dream or not, every nerve in Yuuri’s body had never felt so alive. Victor shed his jacket and shirtsleeves, pushing Yuuri’s own suit down off his shoulders.

Fabric puddled under him, wrinkling.

He felt so exposed. Liquor had him cocking his jaw, smirking up at Victor.

Victor’s kisses traveled down, over his stomach, down the line of his hip. Victor moved between Yuuri’s legs. He pressed kisses to the inner planes of Yuuri’s bare thighs, lavishing them in attention. Those roaming hands slid down, peeling off each sock with a hooked finger.

“What do you want, Yuuri?” Victor asked, his voice low and rough with desire.

How did these fantasies always go?

“In me,” Yuuri said, closing his eyes. He wanted, no, needed, to feel Victor pushing inside him, wanted to feel the slap of skin, the bare, animal desire. “Please, now, I need-”

Victor consumed him in a kiss, stealing Yuuri’s breath before pulling back, trading his suit pants for a bottle of lube he pulled from his suitcase. Naked but for the black thong, Victor closed the distance between them in two long strides. “How do you want to do this?” he breathed. He knelt at Yuuri’s side on the bed, still stroking Yuuri’s skin.

“Like this?” Yuuri asked. “I want… I want to see your face. Want to make you feel good.” Victor pounced on him and kissed him fiercely one last time.

He moved to sit between Yuuri’s thighs. The first pinch of his finger pressing inside made Yuuri’s breath catch. He’d taken toys inside him before, and a single finger was nothing compared to the girth of some of them. But no toy had ever felt quite like this, so alien, so foreign, pressing inside, hot and slick and painted with lube, probing inside for something deep within.

Yuuri let out a weak little moan as Victor worked him open, still searching, adding a second beside it. His cheeks were hot. He felt like a mess, writhing and flushing and out of control. He buried his face in his hands and cried out when Victor brushed against the nerves of his prostate.

Victor worked it mercilessly, abusing the sensitive cluster of nerves until Yuuri was coming undone on the bed.

Yuuri was going to come. He clutched the sheets. “Enough,” he gasped. “In me, want you.” His head was spinning. It had never felt like this before, a strange hand stroking his cock and a finger that wasn’t his plying him open, slicking him with lube.

“Want you, too,” Victor panted. He was flushed red to his chest, his pecs a soft, rosy blush color where the flush had traveled south.

Victor’s chiseled body perfectly resembled the posters that had hung on the wall, the spread in the magazine that had served as a coaster to the bottle of lotion and the box of tissues beside his bed. But the blush was something Yuuri had never seen before. It was cute.

Yuuri felt a warmth in his chest as Victor knelt over him once more, their lips meeting in a soft brush. The kiss was gentle. Victor’s hand slid down Yuuri’s sides, catching on his thighs near the knee and hoisting Yuuri up.

Yuuri’s breath hitched as Victor propped Yuuri’s legs up with his arms, holding them splayed apart enough for Victor to slide into position, the weight of his cock laying heavily beside Yuuri’s.

Everything about him was perfect. Even his dick was something to behold, heavy and thick and long, perfectly proportioned down the length of it, engirged and flushed darker than the skin of his pale thighs.

Yuuri’s breath hitched, and he broke the kiss. His hands reached for the sheets, and they bunched between his fingers. Victor started to press in. It drew a shallow hiss from Yuuri, swallowed up by another kiss.

Yuuri tried to force himself to relax, to make this good for Victor. But he’d never felt anything like the endless push of Victor inside him, the huge, stretching thickness of Victor’s cock sliding inside. His fingers twitched, mirroring the push and pull of Victor’s hips as he slowly worked himself deeper and deeper into the heat of Yuuri’s body.

Yuuri was almost in tears by the time Victor was all the way in. Victor looked panicked. He bushed them away, kissing Yuuri’s cheeks and fretting his fingers through Yuuri’s hair. “Are you okay? Are you alright?”

“Fine,” Yuuri managed. It hurt. No one had ever taken Yuuri like this before, but it seemed so fitting to let Victor have him all, to be the only person to ever connect with Yuuri in such a carnal, physical way. “Fuck me, Victor.” He felt his eyes flutter heavily, his head swaying.

It was starting to hit him, the comedown from dancing and drinking. Victor whispered something in fervent russian and started to move.

He rocked back, and it was a punch to the gut, the sudden movement inside him, the shift in gravity and the pull of Victor’s body away. Victor pushed inside once more, and Yuuri could feel his body start to give, feel the drag as Victor built up a steady pace, thrusting in and out, taking pleasure in Yuuri’s body.

He grunted softly with each thrust, fucking harder, deeper each time. The angle changed, and his cock dragged against Yuuri’s prostate. Yuuri couldn’t hold back his moan, filthy as it slipped through his lips. “Ah, fuck, there, there!” he cried.

Victor latched on, the taste of him exploding on Yuuri’s tongue, their teeth clattering painfully.

Closer, closer still, Yuuri needed more. He wrapped his legs around Victor’s torso, and it helped. Victor wrapped him up in his arms, pulling Yuuri up tight to his chest. He grunted and lifted, and suddenly Yuuri’s back left the bed.

Yuuri held on tighter, the kiss never breaking, but his moans rising up in a questioning noise. Victor spun them both around. His grip was bruising, so tight it made Yuuri’s mind whirl in delirious pleasure. Victor was so _strong_ , carrying Yuuri until his back was flush against glass.

Yuuri tipped his head back with a gasp.

It was like ice on his spine. The room was so warm, Victor’s skin on his feverish, Victor’s cock so hot as it slipped in and out. Yuuri hooked his legs tighter around Victor, giving Victor a better angle to fuck him hard against the window.

Yuuri’s eyes cracked open. Victor’s head was bowed low. Sweat beaded down his chest, his hips jolting so steadily as he fucked Yuuri. It reached so deep like this, and Yuuri could feel everything bubbling, hot and heavy under his skin.

The city stretched out below. He wondered if anyone could see Victor claiming him like this, Victor finding his pleasure in Yuuri’s body, and Yuuri finding his own in turn. Everyone at the banquet had seen Victor smile, had seen him dance in Yuuri’s arms.

Victor rocked in hard, and Yuuri cried out, clutching at Victor’s neck. Strands of silver hair clung to his fingers in sweaty tendrils. It almost hurt, the glass was so cold, unforgiving against his spine. He screamed his pleasure. “Victor, Victor,” he repeated like a prayer, like it was the only word he knew.

Victor was surrounding him and filling him and claiming him, showing Yuuri pleasure upon pleasure. Victor’s lips brushed his ear, and he started to babble something in heavy Russian. What he said, Yuuri couldn’t make out, but it sounded filthy.

His voice was low, a little husky, broken by grunts and moans and Yuuri couldn’t think, couldn’t hardly breathe. “Yuuri, Yuuri,” Victor started to purr, and Yuuri’s name from his lips was sweeter and more heady than the champagne.

Yuuri’s world was spinning, lost, spiralling to the depths until it was nothing but Victor fucking him against the glass, displayed for all to see, and Victor’s voice filling his ear and his mind. Yuuri gasped and moaned as he spilled on their chests.

There was nothing else to hold on to, and so he held on tighter to Victor as his orgasm wrung him through, until Victor’s own hips began to stutter, and Victor ground in deep, filling him with his release.

They stayed in place for several long breaths, unmoving. Yuuri winced, gasping in surprise at the oversensitive feeling of Victor beginning to pull out. Yuuri’s legs were shaky beneath him.

Victor helped him onto the bed. “I’ll grab some towels to help clean up.”

Yuuri hummed tiredly, swaying on his perch on the edge of the bed. The sheets were so soft. Softer than the ones in his room. The whole room was nicer than his hotel room. Yuuri’s eyelids fluttered. It wouldn’t hurt to lay down just for a second, he reasoned.

His eyes closed, and he was asleep before Victor ever returned.

* * *

Yuuri woke up with a splitting headache and a void in his memories where last night should have been.

The room was dark. It was warm, the bed soft and the blankets heavy with a reassuring weight to them. The curtains had been drawn over the windows, blocking nearly all of the light from coming in.

Pain slowly registered. First, it came from the lingering bruises on his skin. Those made sense. He’d taken a lot of spills on the ice, and the bruises were par for the course.

He remembered his shame, how he’d turned away from Victor, too disgusted with himself to even speak with the man he’d idolized for years. After that, things got a little fuzzier.

He remembered returning to the hotel. He knew he’d changed into his only suit and tie. Things got even fuzzier after that. Celestino dragged him to the banquet hall downstairs. Yuuri saw vague flashes of champagne glasses. He remembered music. Dancing? He couldn’t recall a partner or even a style of dance.

Minako would be ashamed of him. He clutched his head and groaned, still laid out on his stomach, taking stock of all the lingering pains and soreness.

Hips, bruised. Back, aching. Tailbone, throbbing. Butthole, sensitive and leaking. Yuuri lifted the covers, bringing his fingers down between his thighs. He felt a small wave of horror, almost too much to make sense of. Semen painted his stomach and thighs, dripping out of his very sensitive, very puffy hole.

Yuuri stifled the squeak of horror. His throat rasped. He’d fallen on his ass, but definitely not on his asshole. He glanced up and around. He was definitely not in his room. That was definitely not his suitcase in the corner of the room, although the suit in a wad on the floor was likely his.

A toilet flushed in the ensuite bathroom, and Yuuri’s head whipped around. The door opened. A shaft of light spilled into the room. A silhouette stepped out, shadowed by the backlighting, though it appeared to be tall and decidedly masculine. Yuuri squinted. His eyes were too poor to make out a face from this distance. His head hurt too badly to stare long at the light, before it flicked off.

The man stepped closer, humming delightedly. “Ah, you’re awake! Good morning, Sleeping Beauty. I went ahead and ordered breakfast, if that’s alright with you. Water? Oh, and here are your glasses!”

The voice was achingly familiar. It was one he’d heard in countless interviews, in youtube videos, in his dreams. Yuuri rubbed his eyes. The man passed him a pair of glasses with a wide smile, and Yuuri settled them on his nose, not fully believing what he was seeing.

“V-Victor Nikiforov?” he sputtered. “You-”

Victor laid down beside him, and Yuuri couldn't move as Victor pressed a soft kiss to his temple.

“I know I should have wiped you off better but I didn't know if you thought that would be rude,” Victor said. “How are you feeling? I haven't done this in a while so I… uh… got a little excited,” he admitted, and he flushed a pretty shade of pink.

Yuuri blinked. He was screaming internally.

Victor just looked nervous. “And I know I'm a little out of practice, but I hope it was good for you, too,” Victor continued. He smiled, crooked and sweet.

Yuuri let his face fall into a pillow. He screamed externally, his throat rasping as he did so. Victor looked panicked when Yuuri lifted his head.

“Yuuri, what's wrong?” Victor asked.

Yuuri clutched his head. “I- I'm sorry, I don't remember anything after the first few glasses of champagne. Please tell me I didn't do anything too embarrassing last night.”

“You... don't remember anything?” Victor’s voice became soft. “Do you remember dancing?”

“We danced?” Yuuri peeked through his fingers. Victor’s expression was falling fast. Disappointment. Of course Yuuri had disappointed his idol, just like he'd disappointed everyone back home, just like how he'd disappointed Vicchan-

Yuuri’s breath hitched, and tears slipped down his face before he could stop them.

“Oh Yuuri, wait, no- don't cry-” Victor started to babble. His hands fluttered around Yuuri's face, unsure of what to do. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Yuuri’s lips. Yuuri cried harder.

“What's wrong? I don't know what to do about people crying, l thought kissing you would help, what can I do-”

An idiot.

Yuuri’s idol was an idiot. Sweet and not good with people crying, it seemed.

Yuuri let out a breathless laugh before he could stop himself, incredulous at the thought. He tried to wipe the tears away even as they kept falling. “I got to dance with Victor. I got to dance and I don't remember any of it.”

“I'm sorry, Yuuri, I didn't realize you had drunk so much, you seemed so sober,” Victor continued to babble. “And I probably had a little too much, too-”

“It's okay,” Yuuri said. He wiped the last tears away. “I'm not upset. Well, I am, but at myself. Not at you.”

“I have videos,” Victor said quickly. “Maybe they'll help you remember?”

“Videos?” Yuuri asked. Victor was already pulling out his phone. The slideshow was several dozen pictures long, showing Yuuri’s shameful descent into drunken mania.

Yuuri groaned as he saw himself lose a piece of clothing with each new picture, trading champagne glasses for the whole bottle. No wonder his head and his legs were hurting so bad.

“Oh my god, I pole danced,” Yuuri said in horror.

Victor lit up. “You did, and you were amazing, Chris said you were one of the best partners he's had in a long time, and you beat little Yuri in a dance contest, too.”

“I challenged Yuri Plisetsky to a dance contest?” Yuuri gaped at the photographic proof. The next part was a video of him dancing beside Yuri. Yuuri could see why Victor hadn't realized he was so drunk. The alcohol had done little to impact his coordination.

Victor nodded. “And then you challenged me,” he continued. Someone else must have taken Victor’s phone from him, because the next series of pictures and videos showed Yuuri leading Victor into a wild dance across the floor, dipping, sweeping, and swirling around each other. Their smiles were radiant.

Breakfast arrived at the door, and Victor retrieved it while Yuuri flipped through the pictures again. It was all there, Yuuri making a damned fool of himself and Victor. And yet…

None of the posters on Yuuri's walls had a Victor on them that smiled so brightly. This Victor looked happy. More than that, he looked… almost like he was in love.

Yuuri pinched himself.

“This is real,” Yuuri said. “So then, after we danced, we…” he gestured to Victor’s room. Victor nodded. “Oh my god,” he muttered. He buried his face in his hands. “I had sex with Victor Nikiforov. _Oh my god_. I lost my virginity to Victor Nikiforov and I don't even remember it.”

Victor, who had taken a drink of coffee, spit. “You what? Wait you-” he started, the smile falling away. He set the coffee aside. “Wait, that was your first time?”

“It's fine, I probably enjoyed it,” Yuuri said with a shrug. Virginity was a bit of a stupid concept to him anyway. He looked away. “I just… wish I could remember doing it with you.”

Victor went pale. “I am a horrible person,” he said.

“Oh no,” Yuuri said. He shook his head. “You're not! I swear, it's fine, I really don't mind-”

“We should fix this,” Victor said. “That was not your first time. That doesn't count. Do over.”

Yuuri blinked. “What?”

“Do over,” Victor said. “We have plenty of lube and I don't have to fly out for a while anyway. Your coach hasn't called yet, so I'm guessing you've got enough time for me to show you how a real first time should go.”

“You don't have to-” Yuuri said quickly, but Victor cut him off with a peck on his cheek.

“Yuuri, do you want to have sex with me?” he asked. Yuuri’s mind blanked. “You don't have to if you don't want to, but… if you want to, while we’re both sober…”

Victor looked away, and his cheeks were creeping over with red. Yuuri popped up on his knees, his spine screaming. He ignored the pain, familiar enough with it after years of spills on the ice that it wasn't as bad as it could be. Yuuri grabbed Victor’s hands.

This was crazy. This was probably a dream. “Yes, I would love that,” Yuuri said.

Victor was leaning forward, and suddenly Yuuri found himself with a lap full of enthusiastic Russian figure skater. Victor had him wrapped up in his arms, his kisses eager and sweet.

Yuuri was almost struck dumb by the sudden change in position.

He kissed back, nervous as Victor’s hands traveled up his spine. Yuuri closed his eyes, tried to focus on how Victor’s lips felt on his, but all he could think about was avoiding clacking his teeth against Victor’s.

“You're different sober,” Victor murmured.

“I'm sorry,” Yuuri said automatically. “I just… want to make it good for you. I want you to be happy, too.”

Victor blushed. A little smile crept over his face. “That's sweet. But you don't need to worry, Yuuri, you can make it good for me just by being you. Now what do you want?”

Yuuri shivered. In his mind, he saw flashes of them dancing, of Yuuri taking the lead through the dance floor, of Victor filling him and surrounding him. “Fuck me,” he whispered. “I want to feel you.”

Yuuri was sensitive, and Victor’s fingers alone were almost too much as they pressed inside him. He was still sloppy and stretched open from last night, Victor’s come mixing with fresh lube to make his insides wet and warm and lose enough to quickly take three of Victor’s fingers.

His idol, his hero. Victor was inside him, and Yuuri was so sensitive that every twist of Victor’s fingers inside him sent waves of pleasure up his spine until it was almost too much.

He was almost crying when Victor pulled them out. “Okay?” Victor asked.

“Perfect,” Yuuri gasped. Victor guided him onto his back on the bed. When he pushed in, Yuuri thought he'd ascended. They were so close, so connected on a level Yuuri had only imagined in his darkest fantasies, and nothing in his dreams had ever measured up.

Victor rocked inside him, so slow, grinding in deep and slowly drawing back out again, dragging the heavy length of his cock along Yuuri’s prostate until Yuuri was coming undone beneath him.

Victor jerked his lube-slicked hand along Yuuri’s length. He picked up speed. It was too much, and Yuuri was crying and gasping, writing beneath Victor as he was taken apart, wholly and completely.

Victor was inside him. Oh god, the great Victor Nikiforov was fucking him-

Yuuri came.

Victor groaned as Yuuri twitched around him, the orgasm tightening Yuuri around Victor’s cock until Victor was spilling, coming deep in Yuuri once more.

Yuuri let out a sharp gasp when Victor pulled out. His body felt open, twitching and empty with his legs splayed apart. Come leaked down the line of his ass, spilling from his entrance.

They kissed again, and this time, finally settled in to eat breakfast. Yuuri could feel the disgusting mess inside him, feel the release on his skin and filling him up. But it was nice, too.

“Thank you,” Yuuri said in a small voice.

“No, thank you,” Victor said. “I really did have a great time lasy night. Probably the best night of my life. Would you want… I mean, would you be willing, well-” Victor broke off, uncharacteristically sheepish. “Could I have your number, maybe?”

Yuuri screamed inside his head. He tried to play it casual and cool, but his hands were shaking as he put his number into Victor’s phone. When he got his own phone back, Victor’s name was bracketed by hearts.

“Text me,” Victor said. “I'll coach you, if you want me to. Just say the word. You're a beautiful skater. I would love to compete against you again at Worlds. And maybe we can meet up while we’re there?”

Yuuri nodded, almost too starstruck to speak. “Y-yeah,” he managed. “I'd like that a lot.”

Victor’s smile was just like the ones in the pictures on his phone. Heart-shaped. Beautiful. He pressed one last, lingering kiss to Yuuri’s lips before he leaned away.

Several hours later, he and Victor said their goodbyes at the airport. Yuuri pulled out his phone, and dialed Phichit, his breath starting to come hard and fast, his heart pounding.

Phichit was never going to believe this story.


End file.
